Killing Ways Page 13

  ‘Are the kids OK?’ said Ren.

  Janine nodded. ‘But their mother most certainly is not. Logan said “be prepared”.’

  Ren stood in the hallway of Carly Raine’s house. She was waiting for the gagging to stop. She had chosen not to eat breakfast, but could feel the beginnings of weakness, the hollowness, the light head.

  Popcorn dinner – not wise then, wise now.

  The first thing she noticed was a trail of blood that ran toward her from the kitchen door at the end of the hallway. Before it reached her feet, it moved to the right, and up the stairs. There were smears, and every now and then tiny little red footprints. Tiny red handprints and streaks on the walls.

  No.

  Ren sidestepped the blood to walk to the kitchen. The refrigerator door was open. There was a carton of apple juice, open and empty, lying discarded in the corner. There were flies buzzing around it. But where the flies swarmed, that was to the left in the corner, where the brutalized body of Carly Raine lay. Ren walked over.

  Holy shit.

  There were three pink Cheerios stuck to her lips. There was milk, spilled and stinking, lumpy and pooled, on her chin, her bare chest, on the ground. There were Cheerios stuck into the clots, scattered around the floor.

  Oh, God. Your son tried to feed you. He wanted to give you breakfast. He wanted you to wake up.

  I will kill the man who did this to you. I will kill him with my bare fucking hands.

  Carly Raine was lying on her back, naked, with her arms out and her right leg bent and across her left as if she was trying to block her killer. As if he could be blocked. She had been savaged. Above her, on the sideboard, was a photo of how she should have looked: bright and bubbly and beaming. Underneath, on the floor, her face was beaten to twice its size, the colors a palette of blue and purple, fading and garish. Her face was turned slightly to the left and there was a sharp slice out of her scalp above her right ear. Her lips were huge. Flies were gathering in all the dead places flies gathered, all the rich moisture of the cavities, the wounds, the secretions; workers in shifts, coming to the body of an innocent to gorge on it.

  Layers upon layers of damage, decay, hurt.

  Outside the window, two Jefferson County Investigators were bent over, throwing up. They weren’t the first.

  Ren looked down again at a body ruined.

  I am walking the earth with monsters.

  Mark Gaston walked into the kitchen behind her, set his bag down on a safe part of the floor.

  He looked down at the body. ‘Anyone for Cheerios?’

  Ren turned to him. ‘OK – I don’t know where the fuck you worked before this, but I can’t, I just can’t listen to your fucked-up, disrespectful bullshit any more.’

  All around them, people seemed to freeze.

  ‘It blows my mind,’ said Ren, ‘that a woman gave birth to you and you can still come out with some of the shit you come out with. I don’t give a fuck if it’s a defense mechanism or if you’re just a massive prick in all your waking hours, but if for one more second of my waking hours, I have to listen to your horrible, cruel and nasty remarks, I will beat you to within an inch of your pathetic fucking life. Do your job, Gaston. You are clearly very talented at it – otherwise how the fuck would anyone hire such a fucking asshole?’

  She turned around and left.

  25

  The mood was altered in Safe Streets – every killing had been brutal, but there was something about the intrusion into the home, the innocence of the children, the Cheerios, even the white sheets on the washing line, that made what happened to Carly Raine all the more harrowing.

  ‘We’re bringing in Sylvie Ross to speak to the three-year-old,’ said Gary.

  Sylvie Ross was one of the best child forensic interviewers in the country, a member of the FBI’s Child Abduction Rapid Deployment Team, based out of Quantico.

  Ah, sporty, marathon-running Sylvie Ross.

  One man connected Ren to Sylvie Ross: Paul Louderback, their PT instructor at the academy. For years, Ren and Paul had a deep emotional affair that, for different reasons, at different times, never really advanced. Just before she and Ben got together officially, she and Paul spent a night together, before they realized it would never work. Last she heard, he had gotten back with his ex-wife.

  Did you sleep with Paul too, Sylvie?

  Why are you even thinking about that now? Get a grip.

  ‘Who flew her in?’ said Ren. Is the whole CARD team here? Will Paul Louderback be flung into my monogamously unstable path once more?

  ‘She was in town, and she’s the best there is,’ said Gary. ‘Have you got a problem with that?’

  ‘No,’ said Ren. ‘Why would I?’

  ‘I don’t know …’ said Gary. ‘You tell me.’

  What the hell are you getting at?

  ‘Are the autopsy results on Carly Raine back yet?’ said Ren. ‘It’s been two days.’

  Gary looked at her like she had ten heads.

  ‘What?’ said Ren.

  ‘After your outburst at Gaston, you can hardly—’

  ‘You know the guy is a dickhead—’

  ‘Not the point!’ said Gary.

  ‘It’s exactly the point!’ said Ren. ‘I got about fifteen text messages of congratulations from people who were there or who heard about it—’

  ‘The point,’ said Gary, ‘is that if you were wrong, for example, if it was one of Ren’s wild beliefs that wasn’t backed up and you went off like that – you would have pissed off a brand-new Medical Examiner who you have to work with—’

  ‘I get it!’ said Ren. ‘But—’

  ‘But nothing!’ said Gary. ‘Yes, the guy is an asshole. But how you handled it? Was worse. You can’t behave like—’

  ‘Like what?’ said Ren.

  ‘Jesus, Ren, just zip it! For once in your life, just fucking zip it.’

  That is fucking IT.

  Ren left, bound for the ladies’ room. She walked in, slammed one of the open locker doors shut. She opened more, slammed them, breathed deeply, wallowed in the sound of metal ringing in her ears. It was better than words.

  I feel possessed.

  She sat down on the bench, leaned back against the cold brick wall.

  I want to feel this hardness against my spine, the discomfort. I deserve it. The fury I’m harboring.

  The human body is an incredible thing. Everything I am feeling is contained within this one body, I am alone with it, I am the only one who can feel this rippling pain, this rising and falling of emotion.

  I have to do something to ease this pressure.

  Ren knocked on Gary’s office door, but pushed in before he could finish giving her permission to enter.

  ‘You don’t get to take this out on me,’ she said, slamming the door behind her. ‘I’m not taking the hit for your perfectionism issues.’

  Gary stared at her.

  ‘Everywhere you look, you’re seeing failure,’ said Ren. ‘At home with Karen, with Claire, here with me on a professional level and on a personal level. You can’t load all that guilt and blame on me. It’s not fair. I can see you – since you had to involve me in your “issue” – you’re looking at me like you can’t handle the fact that I’m aware of your fucking humanity. My flaws have become enormous to you. You’re totally projecting. How can I work with you hovering around me like I’m a fucking bomb about to go off—’

  ‘It feels like you’re a bomb about to go off,’ said Gary.

  ‘Or,’ said Ren, ‘do you feel that way only because of what you’ve done? Maybe, because of all this shit, maybe, for once, Gary Dettling really does have to question his judgment. I mean, whoa, you slept around. Or is it that you got caught sleeping around … the fucking cliché. Maybe I’m not the only one here who is going off the rails. And how does that feel after all your judgment of me?’

  ‘So you think you’re going off the rails?’ said Gary.

  ‘That’s what you got from all that?’ said Ren.
‘Are you fucking serious? Stop fucking deflecting! The only things you’ve responded to that I’ve said are about me. Me doing something wrong. That’s the way it’s always been—’

  ‘That is not true,’ said Gary. ‘I have always praised you when—’

  ‘Reluctantly!’ said Ren. ‘Reluctantly.’

  ‘I have fought for you every step of the way,’ said Gary.

  He has. He always has. ‘No you haven’t,’ said Ren. ‘And if you have, it’s like some kind of extension of your own ego. “Surely I didn’t spectacularly misjudge my own star UCE!”’

  ‘Where is this coming from?’ Gary threw his hands up. ‘I’m not here saying I’m perfect.’

  ‘No,’ said Ren, ‘but you’re believing you should be, believing that you have to be, believing that everyone has to be. And that’s your problem. Your wife’s not perfect, that pisses you off; Claire isn’t, that pisses you off; I’m not. Maybe if we were all perfect, you wouldn’t have to be faced with a world of imperfection every fucking day and you could continue to believe that everything can be perfect in your tiny fucking bubble of perfection. Then you could look in the mirror and not see whatever the fuck it is you are seeing.’

  Rein it in, Ren, rein it in.

  They stared at each other, in the shrinking room, through the excruciating silence, their faces flush, their eyes black.

  Fuck, you are sexy. I bet you are a wild fuck.

  ‘I need to get back to work,’ said Gary.

  Oh, I’m not finished yet.

  Do not speak, Ren. Do not speak. Shut up.

  ‘You can’t spend your whole life compensating for your cruel, cheating army father,’ said Ren.

  ‘Don’t analyze me,’ said Gary, in a tone like a slap across the face.

  ‘Really?’ said Ren. ‘Really? Extra bang for your buck on my therapy sessions. I can pass on my wisdom for free.’

  ‘I had no idea you were this angry.’

  ‘Oh, fuck off, Gary, with your calming tone.’ And I am way beyond ‘this angry’. This is me contained.

  ‘You’re a different man to your father,’ said Ren. ‘Yes, one who screws up every now and then – screws around, as it turns out. One who is – oh my God – fallible, but you’re not him. I’m sorry, but he sounds like he was not a very nice man. And you are. Regardless of any of this. You’re not out to fuck up lives.’

  Her heart was beating too fast. Why am I feeling like the genie is out of the bottle and I could fuck you right now on your desk? Or murder you? I need to leave.

  26

  The conference room slowly filled with members of the task force. Ren was standing at the door beside Gary, going through the newly arrived autopsy report.

  He leaned in to her. ‘I apologize for involving you …’ said Gary. ‘It was unprofessional.’

  Ren faux-gasped. ‘You?’ Admitting you’re … ‘Unprofessional?’

  He smiled.

  ‘Good,’ said Ren. ‘And I’m sorry I lost it.’

  Which is not true. I found it both therapeutic and thrilling.

  Ren went to the top of the room.

  ‘Our latest victim is Carly Raine, thirty-nine years old. She was found raped, murdered, and mutilated in her family home two days ago. From what we know of the crime scene, the UNSUB entered the house through the unlocked back door. She was not killed where she was found – there is evidence that she was killed in the wooded area that borders her home’s property. She was raped with something – we don’t know what, it wasn’t at the scene. The UNSUB’s consistent in his inconsistencies. There are scratches on her feet from where she tried to run away from her attacker. This leads me to believe that he, at least initially, allows his victims to get away, that he enjoys the pursuit of naked women. Her clothes were found in the garden, so we can assume they were taken off there. I just can’t see how several of his petite victims managed to get away. I think he’s making them run.’ She looked around the room.

  Hard to say who’s agreeing with me here.

  ‘There are rope burns on her wrists – the rope was not left at the scene – and there were abrasions to the face – both types of wound were found on some of the other victims. We now have six in total,’ said Ren, pointing to a whiteboard where she had pinned up their photos, alongside maps marking where they lived and where their bodies had been found. ‘Gia Larosa, Stephanie Wingerter, Hope Coulson, Carrie Longman, Donna Darisse, and Carly Raine,’ said Ren. ‘Six women, aged between eighteen and thirty-nine, all brutally raped and murdered. Six women all with friends and families, boyfriends or husbands, or ex-boyfriends or ex-husbands, colleagues, neighbors, people they’ve fallen out with, people they loved to see every day on their way to work. It is exponential. These women all had passions: favorite movies, books, TV shows. They had bars they liked to drink in, restaurants they liked to eat in, parks they ran in, stores they shopped in. Our victims have all made mistakes in their lives, they may have written shitty things in emails, on Facebook, on Twitter, they may have had shitty things written about them. But they’ve written beautiful things, loving things, kind things. They were loved. They all had reasons to live. Not one of them had a reason to die. Not one of them woke up that last morning thinking they wouldn’t make it to the end of the day. Every single one of those women deserved to make it. And every single woman in the city deserves to make it today. And tomorrow and the next day. And every day. We have to stop this.

  ‘The UNSUB is careful,’ said Ren. ‘He leaves no trace that can be connected to him. The bleach, the acid, leaving no weapons at the scene. This means, obviously, he’s got a vehicle in which he can transport not only a victim, but all the other tools he uses to carry out his crimes. He could even be driving a vehicle big enough to allow him to carry out some of the killings inside of it – in the instances where the body was dumped, as opposed to being killed at the scene. Or he has access to a large and private property, where he can come and go unnoticed, and carry out his crimes undisturbed.’

  She stopped, looked around the room, eyeballed as many people as she could. ‘We can’t be overwhelmed. I understand that this is challenging, but I don’t want anyone to lose heart. Please stay motivated. He won’t walk free – it’s just a question of meticulously going through what we have. Always look for patterns, any thread that runs through every scene, or victim. For every one thing this guy throws at us, there is a new connection to him, a fresh opportunity to find him. He is not invincible. He will make a mistake. He doesn’t appear to be on a kamikaze mission. He wants to be alive. Right now, he’s getting away with his ultimate fantasy. Why would he ever want that to end?’

  She paused.

  ‘My mom fell over once,’ she said. ‘Tripped and fell, just on the street. I was here, she was in New York. It was nothing alarming, she wasn’t badly injured, just a little sore. But the idea, just the idea that she had fallen, needed help, that none of us was there, that she was among strangers … that really got to me. I found the whole thing a lot more upsetting than she did. I couldn’t stop thinking, “She was just there alone, I wasn’t there to help her, none of us was.”

  ‘Luckily, my mom was surrounded by kind strangers. Now, can you imagine being a loved one of one of our victims? Knowing that there were no kind strangers there, just one person, a monster, someone who wanted only to hurt her, someone who was getting excited by hurting her, that the whole point was to hurt her, that she was likely screaming, crying, running for her life, questioning her life, her choices? From “Did I wear the wrong thing?” to “Why did I have to drink so much?”; “Did I smile the wrong way at someone?”; “Why didn’t I work out more so I could be fitter so I could run faster?”; “Did I lead this guy on?”; “Why did I leave my kids to go out into the garden to hang my washing?” It’s not right.

  ‘This is affecting people like no other investigation we’ve ever been involved in. For the women of Denver, there is less distance, psychologically: this is not a missing child, which is utterly heartbreaki
ng, but at a remove in most people’s eyes. Like, no matter what, they don’t think they could be next. Not really. They might cry, they might be empathetic, but they don’t necessarily fear for their own safety. This time, people out there – women out there – are thinking they could be next. And they are terrified. He has crossed another boundary – their homes are now violable. He has raped and murdered while children were nearby, unattended, vulnerable.’

  Ren pointed around to the whiteboard, the noticeboards, the photos, the reports, the statements, the stacks of documents.

  ‘Somewhere in this mountain of information lies something that could lead us to our killer. Something. Anything. I will take anything.’

  Ren went home that night and added Carly Raine’s details to the Wall of Horrors, pinning them under the relevant categories.

  She sat down on the sofa and studied the additions.

  Bound by rope at the wrists. So was Carrie Longman. So was Stephanie Wingerter. So was … someone else.

  She scanned the wall again.

  Who? Why am I getting the feeling the answer is not on the wall?

  She closed her eyes. Where did I hear rope burns recently?

  She sat up. Oh my God – the Jane Doe in Sedalia, the neglected lady in the crash into the medical center! Rope burns. And – burns to her body. Like Stephanie Wingerter! What the fuck?

  Ren Googled the Jane Doe, and the details of the crash.

  Oh. My. God.

  It was the night before Stephanie Wingerter was found …

  Ren called Gary.

  ‘Gary – sorry for calling so late, but I have something – Stephanie Wingerter was found the morning after that Jane Doe turned up in Sedalia – the one who was in the pickup that crashed into Sky Ridge Medical Center. Stephanie Wingerter had burns – with lighter fluid as an accelerant – and so did the Jane Doe. Plus, they both had been bound with rope at the wrists.’

  ‘Bit of a stretch,’ said Gary. ‘And didn’t that lady set herself on fire?’